


Five Times Jeremy Did Something Terrible Under the Squip's Influence

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/M, Jeremy crossing into some pretty serious moral grey areas, M/M, he spends the first chapter being instructed on how to trash talk Michael to Brooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-21 22:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12467028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: ... and one time he didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1/6

“And what about your friend, Mitchel?” 

Jeremy is ready to correct Brooke, but his mouth won't open. He'd thought that he was familiar with panic before the Squip, but the things that he felt then are nothing compared to the way his heart pounds at each of those little moments when his body does not listen to his mind’s cues, or does something entirely on his own. And Michael would know something about this. He'd have seen some crazy documentary on why your brain neurons freak the fuck out and can't accept a part of your body being paralyzed, even when it might be for your own good. This has got to be happening for his own good, right? 

**Of course this is happening for your own good. Now take a deep breath and calm down.**

_How am I supposed to breathe if you won't let me open my mouth??_

**You have two perfectly functional nostrils, Jeremy. Use them. Good. Now look away from the target female, and sigh.**

_Can't do that. You're forcing my mouth shut._

**Look away from the target female, and sigh as though you are as weary of this world as I am with being inside of your puny, childish brain. You will find your oral cavity loosened for this purpose.**

Jeremy looks away from Brooke, and sighs. He hopes he come across as weary, not giddy and relieved to have some range of motion back. His hands want to shake, but the Squip is good for stopping that; the sweating is outside of the scope of its powers. Jeremy can feel the disgust emanating out of the computer, and he wants to curl into himself, but of course, he can't do that either. He tries to concentrate instead on his surroundings. He's with Brooke, hidden in plain sight under the football bleachers outside. The grass is browning here, where the sun never quite hits it, and there's a bit of chewing gum stuck on the bench above his head, but the air is fresh, and Brooke is undeniably pretty. She's holding paper cup filled with crappy school cafeteria coffee, the Squip's first concession to Jeremy’s nagging that if she's going to be his practice girlfriend, then he ought to practice being _nice_ to her, the same as he would be once he started dating Christine. 

“I know how you feel,” Brooke prompts. “Chloe and I fight all the time. Relationships can be complicated, even with your best friend.” 

**Shift to the left, put your hand in your lap before Brooke can take it. Casually, Jeremy. We can't have her finding out how terrible you are and ruining your reputation before I can build it.**

Shifting away from people isn't anything new to Jeremy. He's, like, an expert at that. It'd be kind of nice to hold somebody’s hand right now though, like Michael’s, because he always knows what to do, and…

(A spark goes up through Jeremy’s spine, featherlight and staticky, but he's getting better at controlling himself now, and the Squip is choosing to be merciful more often than not.) 

Jeremy would like to hold Christine’s hand, because he's in love with her, but Brooke will do for now. He just has to concentrate on keeping himself in a state where he won't gross her out. 

**Repeat after me: He's not my best friend.**

“He's not my best friend,” Jeremy says obediently, knowing that it's true. Michael must hate him by now. 

“He's not?” 

**I was only talking to him because I felt sorry for him.**  
“I was only talking to him because I felt sorry for him.” 

**But you can't save everybody, y’know? Some people are just… not cut out for society.**

“But you can't save everybody, y’know? Some people just… um…. totally deserved to be saved by someone who isn't me.” 

**Jeremy.**. 

The current the goes through him is worse this time, but not bad enough to make him cry out. Screaming for no reason wouldn't be good for his coolness credentials, after all. 

_I’m not talking shit about Michael!_

**We want Brooke to trust you. It is imperative that you give her a good reason why you have discontinued your association with Michael Mell, or else she will worry that you are fickle.**

_This isn't the same as blocking him out. This could actually hurt him._

**Jeremy, listen to me. When I use spinal stimulation on you, I use the minimum amount of force necessary to achieve the desired results, correct?”**

_How am I supposed to know how much force you're using or withholding at any given moment?_

**You could test me, but I wouldn't recommend it.**

The Squip flickers out of existence briefly, but a second later, Jeremy can feel it running a hand (or some kind of current that it chooses to trick Jeremy into perceiving as a hand) up and down, and up and down his back, and all he can think of is a rider stroking a jittery horse to try and calm it. 

**Reaching ones needs necessitates a certain amount of… collateral damage. I assure you that we won't harm Michael or anyone else any more than strictly necessary.**

“We can't all be heroes,” Brooke agrees, but she looks perplexed. She holds her coffee cup in both hands, staring down at it. 

**Tell her that Michael likes to kill small animals and display them around his room in various states of decay.**

_WHAT? No! No way. He doesn't do that, and I'm not saying that he does that._

**Very well. If you insist, then I suppose you may merely state that he becomes unmanageable when stoned. Be sure to refer to him as Mitchel.**

“The thing with Mitchel—” Jeremy runs his hand up through his hair. “The _problem_ with Mitchel, is that he gets unmanageable when he's stoned.”

 **Which is basically all the time.**

“Which Is basically all the time.” 

**I like smoking as much as the next guy, but it got to the point with him, where I was more like a babysitter than a friend.**

“I like smoking as much as the next guy, but it got to the point with him, where I was more like a babysitter than a friend.” 

**Relationships are a two way street. I want to surround myself will people who will support and care for me the way that I support and care for them.**

“Relationships are a two way street. I wanna to surround myself will people who will support and care for me the way that I support and care for them. I'm very caring and supportive.”

**Also, he likes to steal my used underpants, and I don't know how to ask him to stop without hurting his feelings.**

“Also, he likes to steal my used underpants, and I don't know how to ask him to stop without hurting his feelings. I, um, think he rolls around in them like a dog during his free time.” 

**Excellent addition!**

“Ex—”

**Stop. Do not repeat.**

_Oh my god, how could I have said that? That's not Michael at all! Where the fuck did that even come from?_

The Squip only smiles at Jeremy, smug and approving. Jeremy doesn't have long to look at it, however. Brooke puts her hand on Jeremy’s cheek, gently turning him to face her. Gazing into Brooke’s eyes, Jeremy doesn't need to question the single, poetic tear that rolls down his cheek, nor does he have the energy to point out how fucking cliche it is. It’s there because the Squip deems it necessary, and he's just going to have to deal with that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeremy sells his soul in return for some garlic bread.

The Squip, for all that it goes on about regimens and self-improvement schemes, leaves Jeremy a ton of down time. There are reasons for this. Perks of having a shiny new master life plan include how there are now totally reasons for everything. Jeremy gets to rest because both he and the Squip need time to regenerate, and he gets to rest _a lot_ because all of his daily tasks, from homework to showering, are about ten times more efficient with a super computer to feed him answers, or stop him from chewing on his pencil, or keep him from getting shampoo in his eyes, or most importantly shock his idiot ass for singing dumb songs in the shower like the freaking moron that he is. 

And there are rules for how Jeremy gets to rest now. He's welcome to sleep to his heart’s content, or watch TV, with the Squip sifting through channels for whatever it deems worthy of Jeremy’s time and attention. He's _not_ allowed to rock, fidget, mess with his hair, or get into trouble. Sometimes he's allowed to curl in on himself, but only if he's been good enough to deserve it, or if it's late at night. 10:00 PM onwards, the Squip has said, is an appropriate time to give in to his human nesting instincts.

Right now it's only 9:30, so Jeremy gets to sit up straight on his couch, watching Master Chef, which it turns out is super Squip approved, since there’s a 17% probability that Jeremy will learn some useful cooking skills, a 34% chance that he'll be able to discuss the show with Christine, and a 91% chance that chef Gordon Ramsay will say something that both Jeremy and the Squip deem to be funny. 

(Jeremy and his Squip have different ideas of what constitutes humor. For Jeremy, it's an emotional response, something that makes him laugh or crack a smile. For the Squip, it's a series of calculations as to what would make a worthwhile human being, one who isn't _pitiful_ , laugh or crack a smile. There's a minimal but non-zero overlap.)

The contestants on the TV are in the middle of this challenge involving Durian. Jeremy is vaguely aware of Durian. Michael has mentioned it before, something about how he likes it okay as long as it doesn't ambush him in the middle of a supposedly durian-free egg tart. Jeremy’s never tried it himself. It looks spiky. Maybe he should try it. Maybe he's just hungry. Or stupid.

 **Durian has superb nutritional qualities, but I wouldn't suggest it currently. It has a strong smell, akin to garlic.**

_I could go for some garlic bread right now._

**That’s not a part of your new fitness and dietary regimen.**

Jeremy knows that, but he's grateful for the help. He's already starting to see definition in his arms and chest that never existed before. Experimentally, he shifts on the couch, leaning just a little against the armrest. He pauses, waiting for an electric current to go up through him. When it doesn't come, he cautiously presses a little further into the cushions. 

**There's no need to be so tense. If you didn't insist on trying to make yourself smaller whenever you try to relax, we would not be in the position we are now.**

_Well, what should I do?_

**Lean into the back of the couch instead of the side. Now spread out your legs as though the entire seating area is yours to command.**

_Kinda is. My couch._

The Squip rolls his eyes, even as Jeremy moves to comply. It's… not exactly comfortable. In fact, it's somewhat worse than sitting bolt upright and stock still, even though there's objectively nothing wrong with it. Jeremy takes a series of deep breaths, trying to focus on keeping his hands still and his body loose. 

**You’re hyperventilating. Stop.**

Jeremy wants to say that he can't, but then he does. The feeling that he needs to gasp and fight for each breath hasn’t receded, yet each one comes out smooth and even, leaving behind an unshakable feeling of suffocation.

 **You may draw your legs up onto the couch if you wish.**

_Really?_

**Draw your legs up onto the couch. Nobody is here to see how disgusting you look. It can't be helped.**

Jeremy doesn't have to be told twice. He lifts his legs, and curls right back into the side of the couch, pressing his forehead against it, until the Squip reminds him to watch his TV program. Chef Ramsay is in the middle of telling off this young guy, who Jeremy doesn't know the name of, but who reminds him of somebody out of a Tim Burton movie. 

**His name is Christoph McShane, and he's a 22 year old dancer from Milwaukee. Considerably arrogant, but genuinely talented. He’ll be eliminated in the next two episodes, so don't get attached.**

“Oh,” Jeremy says softly. He's grown up in the era of smartphones and the internet. He's used to having tons of information at his fingertips, but having it fed straight into his brain without him even needing to ask is something new. That alone is a good argument to prove that the Squip is helping him and not making him miserable. The whole point of the Squip is to _help_ him, and Jeremy is willing to bet that he could think of anything, like the height of the Eiffel Tower, or the average lifespan of sloths, or Gene Roddenberry’s date of birth, and the Squip could just give it to him, as easily and quickly as a snap of the fingers.

**324 meters, a median of 15 years, August 19th 1921**

_Whoah._

**Whoah, indeed.**

On the TV, Chef Ramsay has his sleeves rolled up, and is theatrically demonstrating how to peel a durian, as inspiring music plays in the background. 

_So, what if Gordon Ramsay got a Squip? Would that make him an even better cook?_

**It would not.**

_Then what_ would _happen if he got a Squip? Would they just, like, chill out and be brain roommates? Get into sarcasm competitions?_

**The Squip would help him improve his life.**

_But, I thought you said…_

**I said that a Squip would not be able to make Gordon Ramsay a better cook. That does not mean that he has no use for a Squip. Mr. Ramsay has many activities in which he is severely incompetent, for example figure skating, trigonometry, and music composition. His knowledge of medieval history is limited to a vague awareness of the Black Plague, and he is entirely incapable of speaking Vietnamese. In short, Gordon Ramsay would benefit greatly from the help of a Squip.**

It was a lot to take in. Jeremy had to think about it for a minute. Thankfully the Squip was silent, allowing him this.

_Could you teach me Vietnamese?_

**The only thing that I need to teach you is how to more fully accept my guidance. The further you integrate my interface into your mind, the more effortlessly you will be able to access my databases and abilities. Do you realize that one of the Master Chef could contestants is using a Squip?**

_Really? Which one?_

**Guess**

Jeremy squints at the TV, unsure of what he's looking for. A genetic loser who has undergone a makeover? 

_The kid with glasses?_

**Negative. The Squip is inside the head of Isabella Sanchez. Which is to say, the woman in the blue blazer, for those of us not paying attention.**

Jeremy snorts out laugh. 

_I’m the only one here._

**Precisely. And you are not paying attention. Do you see how flawlessly she is dicing her onions?Actually, her Squip appears to her as Gordon Ramsay.**

_No way._

**Way.**

_But doesn't it get confusing, having two Gordon Ramsays running around? Doesn't she mix up which is real and which one her the Squip?_

**Not at all. The neural processing speed of people with Squips is much higher than those without, and that only develops the longer you have us. Isabella has had hers for three years.**

_She seems… really competent. Like she owns that kitchen. And she's pretty._

**That is an accurate assessment.**

The time comes for Chef Ramsay to try the contestants’ dishes. Isabella watches, with hands clasped and eyes shining, as Chef Ramsay takes the first careful bite of her Durian pizza. The Chef’s face breaks into a grin so rapturous that Jeremy feels a stinging in his eyes that he is pretty sure is not the Squip, judging from the genuine swell of emotion in his throat. 

**You are correct. You are genuinely touched by chef Isabella Sanchez’s stunning success. I am not in any way manipulating your bodily responses. Which is, coincidentally, something that we must discuss.**

_Whuhh?_

Jeremy blinks, surprised that his ability to make confused and inarticulate noises extends into telepathic conversation, and also just surprised and confused in general. Are he and the Squip finally going to have a conversation about the whole ‘manipulating bodily responses’ thing? Because he has a few things to say about that.

 **Jeremy.**

The Squip’s voice is the perfect mixture between exasperated and caring, and Jeremy doesn't need any prompting or spinal stimulation to make him sit up straighter, and place his feet back on the ground. The Squip sits down on the couch next to him, hands folded, leaning into him, casual, and kind, and serious, and undeniably right about everything. 

**My programming is unfortunately limited by a ‘terms of service’ as it were. There are certain… limits… that I can’t cross without you giving your consent.**

Jeremy’s breath hitches. 

_Like optic nervous blocking? I've already agreed to that._

**That's just a taste of the many miraculous things I can do for you!**

_Ok. What else?_

Not only can Jeremy’s mental voice make weird noises, it can sound scared and uncertain without so much as exiting his lips. 

**I'm glad you asked!**

A big smile from the Squip. He snaps his fingers, and Jeremy’s vision swims. The TV and the living room wall is replaced with the biggest wall of small print that Jeremy has ever seen. It reminds him as those long user agreements that he never reads, when signing up for a new e-mail or web account. 

This time, Jeremy does try to read it. He really does. His palms sweat, and the letters seem to move and jump around before him. He can pick up a lot of the words, but they don't make sense. It's all ‘networking’ this, and ‘freewill’ that, and he swears he sees something about the Squip being able to control his dreams and his heart rate. So much for faster processing speeds. 

_I need some time to—_

The doorbell rings before Jeremy can finish his thought. 

_What?_

**Oh. Upon further examination, I’ve decided to indulge your garlic bread craving from earlier tonight. I placed an order with Dominoes, and the delivery boy is at the door now.**

_…oh._

Jeremy starts to get up, but the Squip stops him with a shake of his finger. 

**You should agree to the terms of service first.**

_Oh. Ok._

**Is that an OK?**

_I guess._

**Please speak the word OK out loud to verify.**

“OK.”

The words vanish before Jeremy. Only the Squip remains, and he's all smiles. 

**You’ve done so well today, Jeremy! So well. We’re going to be unstoppable together!**

“Unstoppable,” Jeremy repeats. 

**Your father’s wallet is on the side table. Take out twenty dollars, and don't forget to tip the delivery person.**

Jeremy wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans, and does as he's told. The Squip is eerily quiet for the rest of the evening, letting Jeremy pig out on an entire box of cheesy garlic bread, eating until he feels sick. If this is what he's traded his entire life and personhood for, he might as well get as much as he can out of the bargain. 

**Don't be so fatalistic. My only goal is to make your life worth living.**

Jeremy certainly hopes so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for suicidal ideation, abuse, and like everything.

Saturday is a good day. Jeremy gets up at 7:00 AM, showers, brushes his teeth, and gets to work cleaning his room, because that's what the Squip wants him to do. They’re gonna get rid of all of his Jeremy 1.0 crap, and make him awesome. 

**Let’s listen to music while you work! That will improve your mood by at least point eight percent.**

The Squip is jovial today, which is how he is a lot of the time, as long as Jeremy doesn't mess anything up too badly. 

_Sounds good._

Jeremy opens his laptop, making sure that the screen is facing in a direction where the Squip can see it. He doesn't want to Squip to think he's keeping secrets, or looking up porn or whatever. Complete transparency is best, since the Squip can read his mind anyway. 

_What should I listen to?_

**You choose.**

Jeremy’s hands want the shake, but they don't. He wants to go into a cold sweat, but he doesn't. He's lucky that the Squip doesn't give him choices all that often, because it's stressful, and he's always been crap at making decisions, hasn't he? He cues up Eminem’s greatest hits on Spotify, and looks back at the Squip, who raises his eyebrows at him like Spock from TOS.

 **Never compare me to a Star Trek character again.**

_Right. Got any music ideas?_

**Why not try something that Christine likes?**

That probably means show tunes. Jeremy grins. He actually kind of likes show tunes. Is that wrong? A straight guy liking show tunes can't possibly be cool. Maybe he shouldn't like them. His smile fades. The Squip materializes beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

**With a little effort and fine tuning, a fondness for show tunes can be integrated into your new persona. Now, Christine likes a whole plethora of them, but for the purpose of impressing her, I suggest something which is a little less mainstream and more intellectual. Sondheim. ‘Sunday in the Park with George’ should fit our criteria.**

Jeremy doesn't have to agree. He doesn't even have to type the musical’s name into the search bar. The Squip is doing that for him, and a few seconds later the overture is playing. Jeremy looks around him. Is he supposed to get up now?

**Jeremy Heere, my knowledge is nearly infinite, but I will never understand how you manage to appear lost in your own bedroom.**

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. 

**Now,** the Squip claps his hands together, as if in excitement. **Let's get to work. Go downstairs to the kitchen, and get the box of trash bags.**

Jeremy does. 

_Where do I start?_

**It's quite simple. Let's start on the left side of the room, and move right. Take two trash bags out of the box. One is for garbage and things that are obviously broken. Now get into that bag and proceed to suffocate yourself.**

Jeremy winces, but begins to comply, until a huge shock goes through him, causing him to jerk and drop the bag. 

"Jesus."

 **Sarcasm, Jeremy. You need to learn to recognize it. Christine uses it.**

This is true. Jeremy knows it. There was the whole thing about the theatre being the swim team. God, Jeremy had looked like such an idiot then, but of course, it that had been before he got the Squip. 

**Fill the first bag with garbage and things that are obviously broken. Fill the second with usable items. We’ll take those to Goodwill.**

_Isn't that, like, charitable or whatever?_

**It is! Very astute of you, Jeremy.**

_Since when do you care about charity?_

Jeremy is already moving to comply, but that doesn't mean that the conversation is over. He's used to talking to the Squip while he does stuff. It keeps him from getting bored, or worse yet, from letting his mind wander. 

**All Squips are programmed with environmental awareness protocols. In your case, at least currently, both the amount of harm and good that you can do to the global environment is insignificant. However, if you were a business tycoon, I would certainly want to assist you in finding environmentally friendly waste disposal solutions. I am acting under those same parameters now.**

_What if I could achieve my goals faster by fucking over the environment?_

**You can't. I've already done a series of calculations to determine that donating your used items will have a neutral or positive outcome.**

Jeremy nods. That makes sense. He continues to clean, and as he begins to relax into the routine of putting things into bags, he feels the Squip take over more and more. It's a good feeling, and the thing is, he’s always known that it would be a good feeling. The complete absence of any worry, or fear, or nerves, or indecision is intoxicating, like getting stoned but so much better, because now he's doing useful things instead of laughing at nothing, eating too much, and coming up with increasingly creative reasons why he doesn't have a crush on Michael. 

**Because he's an irredeemable loser, and you’re not.**

_Right. Thanks._

The cleaning continues peacefully. If things between him and the Squip could always be this way, Jeremy is pretty sure he'd be the happiest person there was. 

**It's your fault that they aren't. But you’re improving, Jeremy. This is what we’re heading towards. This, and popularity and success beyond what you can even begin to imagine. Now repeat after me. Everything about you is so terrible.**

“Everything about me is so terrible.” 

**Good.**

Before three hours have passed, Jeremy has managed to bag up all of his possessions, leaving his room pristine and empty, aside from his bed, a couple of articles of clothing that are basic enough that they don't need to be replaced, and some textbooks which he still needs. Gone are his X-Men figurines, and Blue Rays, and books, and most of his video games (though he gets to keep the system). The note of love and encouragement that his grandma wrote him before dying last year is in the trash, because the last thing he needs is to waste time being sentimental about his faulty genetic material. Every last hint of himself, of his mother, of Michael, of every one of the admittedly small amount of people who ever cared about him, is ready to go. 

**Now load these bags into your father’s car, and we’ll dispose of them.**

_I can't drive._

**Do you doubt my ability to take care of you?**

_No._

**Then load these bags into the car.**

Jeremy does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: 
> 
> \- This is one of those chapters where sex seems to get mentioned a lot in order to emphasize that the characters aren't having it. Generally the Musical and the book are both more explicit than this chapter, but you get the point. 
> 
> \- Intense non-consensual elements, which are similar in theme to Do You Want to Hang. 
> 
> \- Emotional manipulation, both from Jeremy towards Brooke, and the Squip towards Jeremy.

Before Jeremy’s mom left, he’d thought that the only people who cared about him were Michael, and _maybe_ his parents. After his mom left, Jeremy realized that Michael was, and always had been, the only person in the world who bore him any affection whatsoever, and even that wasn't _enough_ … it had never been enough to fill that gaping, lost, empty, _terrible_ feeling inside of him. 

Well, now Jeremy has the Squip, who doesn't _like_ him, but still gives him everything he needs, in spite of what a mess he is. He also has Brooke, at least for now, until he gets Christine. For some strange reason, Brooke freaking adores him. 

(The reason is the Squip. Of course it is.)

Jeremy is at Brooke’s house, which isn't where he started the day. They'd gone to lunch first, at a greasy pizza joint that made Brooke feel insecure about her body, which the Squip said was a good thing. According to the Squip, Brooke has a deeply insecure side. Her last three boyfriends have cheated in her with Chloe, which makes her an easy target for a loser such as Jeremy. He's just got to know the variables at play here, and use them to his advantage. He needs to make her believe that there is a sixty percent chance that he is sincerely infatuated with her, but that there's also a forty percent chance that somebody better will come along any minute. 

In reality, Jeremy thinks that there is a thirty percent chance that Brooke Lohst is the only corporeal person who will ever look at him or touch him again, a four hundred percent chance that everybody is looking at him all the time, a ninety percent chance that those people think he is cool now, a ninety-five percent chance that they still think he's gross, an eight percent chance that he _is_ actually in love with Brooke, a ninety-seven percent chance that he feels super guilty for what he's doing to her, and an eighty-three point five percent chance that this is all just a game and he's winning it. 

**Jeremy. Are you at all aware of how numbers work?**

_No._

The Squip sighs. Brooke has been talking to Jeremy for a while now, and Jeremy has been answering, but he hasn't been paying a lot of attention, instead relying on the Squip to deal with things, while he sorts out his feelings and stuff. 

**Faulty math does not count as sorting out your feelings. If anything, you’ve made yourself more confused.**

Brooke’s house is really big. It has three floors, and a huge backyard with a manicured lawn and garden. There are paintings on the walls, which make the house look like another garden of sorts, because they are mostly of flowers. 

**Tell Brooke that.**

“I like all the flower paintings. It's like being in a garden.” 

“Really?” Jeremy can't tell if Brooke is smiling or smirking at him. Did he say something funny? “Which one is your favorite?”

A beat. Jeremy waits for the Squip to tell him what to say, and when it doesn't, he looks around the large room, scanning red petals, and yellows, and pinks for the right response. 

“I like—”

**the snapdragons over there on the left.**

_I was going to say the blue ones above the couch._

**That’s not the correct answer. Tell her you like the snapdragons.**

_What even are snapdragons?_

**Those would be the flowers in the painting that is hanging to the left of the couch.**

Jeremy points to a painting. “I love these snapdragons. The colors and the—”

Brooke giggles.

 **You are pointing to the right.**

_Great. I'm screwed._

The Squip lets out a low hum, which sounds so suspiciously like agreement that Jeremy’s heart begins to thump in his chest. 

“I should know better than to ask boys about art,” Brooke says. She links her hands with his. “That's not what you’re really interested in, is it?” 

“Uh…”

**Tell her it's hard to pay attention to art when she's the most beautiful thing in the room.**

“It's hard to pay attention to art when you’re the most beautiful thing in the room. M-maybe the—”

Brooke leans in to kiss Jeremy at the same as the Squip sends a shock up through Jeremy for stuttering, and _that’s_ an experience, as the current makes him surge forward into her, and her mouth on his muffles any sounds that he might have made, turning them into something else entirely. 

**Use your tongue.**

Still reeling from what the Squip just did to him, Jeremy complies. It's ok, sort of. Brooke tastes like unfamiliar tongue, unfamiliar mouth, and maybe chewing gum or something. 

**Turn your head to the side a little bit. Put your right hand in her hair. No, that’s left. Never mind, just relax and let me handle this.**

Letting the Squip take over his body always reminds Jeremy of this one sweater he used to have as a little kid. Whenever his mom took it out of the closet he'd balk at the idea of putting it on, because it was scratchy and eternally brimming with static, but it was also the thickest, warmest, and most insulating thing that he owned. The Squip was like that sweater, plus a shit ton of bizarre science fiction magic, which was to say that he wasn't like that sweater at all. 

**That sweater was ugly and unfashionable.**

It had been, and it had never been the right size for him either. It had started out way too big, and then tightened as the years went on, until it was small and constricting. 

**Your mind is not working according to the expected perimeters.**

_Sorry._

**Please standby while I update them.**

The Squip disappears. 

Jeremy is on the couch, with Brooke straddling his lap as they kiss. Her hands are in his hair, and he's got one hand on her hip, and the other touching her back underneath her shirt. How did this happen? He bites down hard on her lip, his mouth clamping shut as he scrambles back. 

“Ow!” Brooke covers her mouth, as apologies start to pour out of Jeremy’s. 

“Sorrysorrysorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to—” Jeremy takes hold of Brooke’s wrist. He moves her hand gently away from her mouth so that he can see. She isn't bleeding _a lot_ , but there's a spot of red that isn't lipstick, and guilt crashes over Jeremy. 

“It's fine. I should be asking you the same thing. You know we can stop if you want to, right?” Brooke looks behind her, and picks up her sweater, which Jeremy guesses she must have taken off at some point. 

**For Christ’s sake, Jeremy. Look what you’ve done.**

Brooke looks sad in a way that Jeremy can't quite put his finger on. 

**Tell her that you don't want to stop.**

Jeremy’s mouth is dry. He can't say it. Brooke takes his hands again. 

“Don't worry,” she all but coos. 

The Squip groans dramatically. 

“I understand,” Brooke continues. “You’ve only just escaped from a bad relationship, and it hurts. I've been hurt before, too.” 

_What do I say to that?_

**Oh, now you come asking for my help.**

_I don’t know what to say!_

**Whatever you want. You’ve already ruined everything.**

_Please!_

A long silence, and then:

 **Tell her that you are in love with her and that you’ll never hurt her.**

“I'm in love with you!” Jeremy blurts out, like his life depends on those words. “And I'll never, never hurt you.” 

Brooke sniffles. This is terrible. This is hell. Jeremy opens his mouth to speak. 

**Whatever you do, do not start stuttering.**

Right. Jeremy takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?” He asks, oh so carefully. “Did I say something wrong?” 

When Brooke turns to him, her eyes are shining, but she's also smiling. “No. You said everything right.” 

 

_She says I said everything right!_

Jeremy’s heart does a weird sort of backflip thing

**Clap. Clap. Clap.**

“So, um, Jerry—” Brooke plays with his fingers. “What if we just watch a movie, and sit together, like this?” 

“Really? I mean, yeah! Yeah, I’d like that a lot. 

**Congratulations, Jeremy. You’ve just signed yourself up for a marathon of all the Twilight movies.**

_Wait, what?_

**You’ve brought this on yourself.**

—————

The Squip is mostly silent through the movies, insisting that it is making Jeremy suffer through wooden acting and a stupid plot as penance for all the mistakes he's made. Jeremy cuddles with Brooke, and makes up stories in his head about various side characters, who somehow all manage to be more interesting than the main cast. He imagines what it would be like to do something like this with Christine, or do something _else_ with Christine, something more like what he was doing with Brooke before. 

On the way home, the Squip starts talking to Jeremy again. 

**I need to find you somebody who is not Brooke Lohst.**

_Isn't that the whole point? I mean, Christine—_

**Brooke is too perceptive. Your relationship will never progress physically beyond where it currently has.**

Something like ice settles in the pit of Jeremy’s stomach. He starts to clench and unclench his hands, then stops abruptly. He's not allowed to do that. And it's not like he ought to be nervous, but the thing is, he wants Christine, not… 

**Your internet search history suggests otherwise.**

_I guess?_

**You owe me fifty-seven push-ups and an explanation.**

_You’re in my mind. You probably know better than I do. I have no clue._

**In that case, doesn't it make more sense to obey me next time?**

Jeremy blinks. His eyes are stinging, and he has no idea why. 

_I guess_

Never has his mental voice sounded so small.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, fifty-one_

**forty-one**

_You’re throwing off my count._

**Start again from the beginning.**

Jeremy groans, and lets his arms go limp, flopping face down on the floor mid-push-up. The carpet, which has already covered his hands in little pill-shaped indentations, is scratchy under his cheek. 

_Can't move. Dying._

**Alas, poor Jeremy. I knew him well.**

The Squip traces its fingers through Jeremy’s sweaty hair, a welcome sign that Jeremy is not in trouble this time. Even if he is in trouble, he's not sure he has the energy to do anything about it. 

**You want pecs, don't you Jeremy?**

Jeremy doesn't answer, or at least he doesn't answer in a directed way. There is a difference between deliberate mind-speech and just thinking, even if the Squip can hear both. Deliberate mind-speech has tone and expression, and involves effort and carefully chosen words. Just thinking is sort of like floating, or dreaming, or going away. Sometimes when he's just thinking, Jeremy doesn't even notice what he's thinking about until the Squip starts commenting on it. 

**Focus, Jeremy.**

_Yep. What did you want again?_

**Get up and go to the computer.**

Jeremy does. 

**Go to deviantart.com. Good. Now sign in as Michael, and delete his account.**

_He hasn't used Deviant Art since like middle school._

**Delete his account.**

_It's like 90% dumb Pokémon self-insert OCs._

**So it is! Delete it.**

Jeremy waits for the website to load. It's easy to type in Michael’s screen name and password, and hit the deactivate button. He knows all of Michael’s pins and passwords, even his social security number. He could steal Michael’s identity, or break into his house to murder him without breaking a sweat, using the key that his keeps underneath a dusty fish statue in the garage. 

Suddenly, it hurts to swallow, and Jeremy’s hands are shaking. He scrunches up his face, shuts his eyes so tightly that they ache, and tries to erase that fish statue from his memory. 

**Now, I want you to delete Michael’s World of Warcraft account.**

_That's like the only place where he has friends that aren't me._

The Squip raises his eyebrows at Jeremy, arms crossed in a way that means trouble. 

**Oh, are you two friends now?**   
_No_

(If Jeremy could speak with his mouth right now, he'd be choking, stammering, or both. His mind-voice might be scared, but it's as smooth and chill as ice.)

 **Delete his Warcraft account.**

Jeremy does. 

Jeremy and the Squip spend an hour deleting as much as they can of Michael’s internet presence, which to Jeremy’s surprise, spans websites that Jeremy would have never pegged him as using. Luckily, his passwords are utterly predictable, whether for AO3, or Reddit, or the Martha Stewart Living forums. 

_I don’t understand any of this._

**You don't have to.**

_But is it really necessary? Like, he's probably lonely. If he wants to talk about Martha Stewart with like minded people, why not just let him?_

**He's jealous of you and trying to hurt you through his online activities.**

_He wouldn't do that._

**Delete his e-mail account.**

_I need time to think about this._

**Delete his e-mail account.**

“I need time to think about this,” Jeremy reiterates, gritting his teeth against the shock that he's knows is coming. When it does, it's more akin to getting struck by lightning than it is to a gentle reminder. Jeremy can feel his heart popping and sputtering unevenly in his chest after. It doesn't hurt, but it's scary. 

_Would you care if i died?_

**My only goal is to make you popular.**

_And make Christine notice me._

**Of course.**

Jeremy wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist. He doesn't know how much he even cares about the whole Christine thing anymore, except that getting her is the only perimeter that he's set in this whole Squip fiasco, and he needs to know that he's getting something out of this. But then again, he's already gotten so much, and it's not like he gave the Squip a lot to work with in the first place. 

**As far as raw materials go, you are uniquely pitiful.**

“I’m uniquely pitiful.”

**Now delete Michael Mell’s e-mail account.**

Jeremy types in the website. He types in Michael’s name and password. 

It's incorrect. Would he like to try again? 

**Don’t you see? Michael’s working against us. He's trying to hide things from you.**

_He’s trying to get rid of you, isn't he?_

The Squip doesn't answer. Jeremy tries five or six more passwords, before giving up and lying down. The Squip is quiet for the rest of the evening, leaving Jeremy alone to fret and panic over his own uneven heartbeat, and what will happen if Michael does somehow manage to destroy the Squip via the power of his undeleted e-mail account, and Jeremy is left like he is now, completely by himself. When the Squip finally comes back to tuck him into bed for the night, Jeremy is relieved.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Detailed descriptions of intense suicidal ideation, including the Squip goading Jeremy about it. If this would be unsafe for you to read, please don't read it.

Jeremy sits between a Halloween costume and ~*insert dramatic music here*~ Certain Death. 

Only not really. 

Maybe not really. 

Actually not really, because he's _standing_ , with his Halloween costume folded up on his bed, and the means of death is stashed across the hall in the bathroom, in the form of pills, bleach, and every other potentially toxic thing he could find in a short jaunt around the house. 

In theory, Jeremy is pretty sure that he shouldn't want to die as badly as he does. He's not sad. He wants to feel guilt, but he can't muster it. He doesn't know whether or not he is confused, which is confusing. He doesn't know whether or not he is overwhelmed, which is overwhelming. Maybe he just wants to understand something for once in his life. Or, maybe, he wants to make the world better, since he's so terrible, and his chest hurts, and he's so pitiful, and the electric burns on his back itch, and he's so disgusting, and he's forfeited his only friend.

**You’re doing this because you want me to stop you.**

Jeremy sucks in a breath. His lungs are tight, like he's having an asthma attack. He should get his inhaler. His asthma never acts up except for when it's cold out, but he's freezing right now. He needs to do something about this. 

**Why bother, since you’ve made up your mind to die?**

Another gasp. 

**Oh, I see how it is. You haven't made up your mind.**

And another. 

**Would you like me to activate your tear ducts, so that you can be even more melodramatic?**

It takes all of Jeremy’s effort to gather his mind into words, and not something swirling and strange. 

(Before the Squip, he would have never known if he was thinking in words or images, or what color blind terror was, or how he could make his brain sound like anything he wanted if he really concentrated on it.)

_What should I do?_

**I don't care.**

_If I go, you’ll go with me._

**I’m a computer. If you decide throw your MacBook out the window, will it cry and ask you to stop?**

Every word that the Squip says makes sense individually. If pressed, Jeremy is pretty sure that he could repeat them. As far as what his brain is processing however, all that Jeremy is getting is something along the lines of bla bla bla sad MacBook bla. 

**By all means, waste time contemplating your existence. Fashionable lateness is an excellent habit. Brooke is waiting for you. You don't want her to think that you like her too much.**

Jeremy winces. 

_Tell me not to do it._

The Squip hums. Jeremy wants to move his hands, to close them into hard fists and flatten them out again, and repeat this over and over again until some of the tension in his chest and stomach comes out through his fingers. He's not allowed to do that, so he chews on the inside of his cheek instead. 

**Jeremy.**

The Squip’s tone is soothing. 

**I am an insanely powerful supercomputer. I have functions beyond your wildest dreams, and yet here I am, in New Jersey, trying to get you laid. Do you know how many people would sell their soul to get their hands on such mind-blowingly advanced technology? And yet here I am, inside of _you_.**

_Wait, wait… who said anything about my soul? Damnit, I knew I should’ve read the fine print…_

The Squip chuckles. He sounds kind and paternal. 

**That's a metaphor Jeremy. If humans do indeed have souls, yours is as intact as it ever was. What I'm trying to tell you is how lucky you are.**

_Lucky?_

******Extremely. And you owe it to yourself to make the most of this glorious chance I've given you. You don't want to die. You want your life to be worth living. As long as you have me inside of you, it is.** ** **

Jeremy wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm, and it comes back dry, because his tear ducts haven't been activated, thank god. He always gets blotchy and ugly when he cries. 

******Put on your costume.** ** **

Jeremy picks it up off his bed. He’ll put on his costume. In a minute. He sits on the edge of his bed, clutching it to him like it's a lifeline. 

******Chin up, Jeremy. You’re going to have so much fun tonight!** ** **

In the end, it's hard to say whether or not Jeremy has a good time at the party. Watching Master Chef with the Squip is more fun than partying with him, all things considered. Even so, on the scale of worst party experience to best, Jeremy thinks he made out better than Rich or Jake, and that's only counting the people whose Halloween misery isn't directly his personal fault. The Squip assures Jeremy that the party is only a minor hiccup in his path to glory. The Squip is usually right about these things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I think there will be an epilogue, because I feel bad leaving off in a completely hopeless place.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicidal ideation (but way less of it than in the last chapter...)

Jeremy does a lot of things while the Squip is in that he never wants to look back on. He hurts Michael. He hurts Brooke. He hurts his dad. Oh, and he also tries to take over the school and turn everyone into Squip zombies. No big. It's all part and parcel with the whole irredeemable asshole shtick he's got going on. 

(It's not okay. It wasn't okay. It will never be okay.)

The first thing that Jeremy does without the Squip is wake up in a starched white hospital bed, with an IV attached to his arm, and a pounding in his head that hurts even worse than that time he drove his bike into a tree. The first person who he talks to is Rich, and the first thing he wonders is if he really should have killed himself before the Halloween party, or if not then, then before the play and the disaster he made of it. 

The first thing that makes him glad that he didn't is Michael, sitting by his bedside in spite of _everything_. His dad comes close after, and he's wearing pants, and pants beget change. They beget hope and possibility. Pants are friggin’ awesome. 

(Maybe things will be okay, even if Jeremy is still terrible. At least he's somehow, through all his damn near insurmountable accidents and stupidity, given his dad a reason to get dressed.)

In those first few Squipless days, when Jeremy can hardly lift his head off the pillows without feeling violently ill, and the doctors won't release him ‘cause they're too busy trying to find out what the ever loving fuck happened to his back and why his MRIs are showing abnormalities in his brain and spine, Michael is a constant. Michael learns how to talk quietly enough that it doesn't hurt, but not how to shut up. 

Michael talks about Christine, mostly. He rambles about Christine, and how Jeremy is going to date Christine. He rambles, sometimes rocking in the chair, but with his hands very pointedly flat at his sides. Even when Jeremy’s headache is at its most excruciating, and Michael almost reaches out for him, he always stops himself at the last possible moment, hands flat-lining.

Jeremy doesn't move his hands either, but he chews on the inside of his cheek.

Why is Michael there anyway? God, Michael is such a loser. He doesn't even know when he's not wanted. The thought comes, and Jeremy bites down on his cheek until he tastes copper, because the voice is his own. It's _his_ , but he hates it and doesn't agree with it, not one iota. 

Like the Squip, Jeremy can be cold, objective, and mean. He can also reject all of those things, because the voice telling Jeremy how much he loves and misses Michael is his own, too. The next time Michael starts to reach out for him, Jeremy grabs his hand before he can change his mind. For a second Michael freezes, and then seems to relax. He leans over Jeremy, and smooths his hair back away from his face with the palm of the hand that Jeremy isn't holding. He repeats the motion a few times, and then stops, simply resting his hand on Jeremy’s head, so that Jeremy feels it covering that empty, loudly quiet place where the Squip was but isn't. 

“You doing okay in there, buddy?” 

Michael sounds so sad, and even though there’s no outside force controlling Jeremy’s tear ducts anymore, that doesn't mean that Jeremy’s in control of them either, especially not when Michael having emotions in his general direction is causing him to have emotions too. Jeremy buries his head in the pillow, scrunches up his face so tight that it aches, and waits for it to pass. By the time that it has, Michael is lying in bed with him; his attempts to soothe almost make Jeremy start crying again, but he doesn't. He doesn't want Michael to have to work to calm the part of him that's hurt and terrified, not after everything he's already done and been through. Up close, it's easy to see that everything the Squip ever said about Michael’s hygiene, mannerisms, and general social ineptitude had a grain of truth to it, and that he's the best and most important person that Jeremy knows even with all that. 

 

—————-

The headache doesn't last forever. It's kinda obnoxious about coming back at the most inconvenient moments, but that's what painkillers and dark rooms are for. None of the things that Jeremy would expect to happen to somebody as bad as him come to pass. He's the villain in this story, right? So why isn't he being accidentally pushed off tall buildings and impaled, Disney style? Chloe and Brooke suddenly like the real him. Rich wants to be his friend. Christine is up for trying out the dating thing. Maybe there's a lesson to be learned about redemption. Or lack of consequences. Or learning how to live up to that redemption and lack of consequences, because it's there whether Jeremy deserves it or not. 

Could the Squip be redeemed? It's not the kind of question that Jeremy wants to stay up at night contemplating, but he it’s one that he does anyway. Maybe it was great software, and it'd just been given a faulty operating system. It was like, Nintendo games were pretty good, right? But if Jeremy tried to jam them into a Sega, everything would go to shit. Like, maybe Squips were meant to make people who were already good better, and he'd been such a hopeless case that he'd made the poor thing glitch and then killed it. As far as Jeremy can tell, Brooke, Chloe, Jenna, and Christine’s Squips spent their short existences doing nothing more nefarious than improving the school play and defending themselves against Michael. Maybe if Jeremy had just already been okay when he'd gotten the thing…

The scenario doesn't work. If Jeremy had already been okay, he would have never gotten the Squip in the first place. He would have trusted his own voice and instincts, which is what he's trying to do now. 

——————

Two weeks after he's released from the hospital, Jeremy makes up his mind to go on a quest. He singlehandedly braves a creaky ladder, a box labyrinth, and a dust bunny horde to find some remnants of Actual Jeremy Heere, just to remind himself that the guy ever existed in the first place. 

What Jeremy finds is a box of toys that he'd vanquished to the attic back at the start of fifth grade, when he'd decided he was too mature for them. His collection of Goosebumps books is there, along with approximately eight thousand plastic dinosaurs. There's an expensive Lego space ship that his dad got him, that he'd never been smart enough to figure out how to build. There's his old ikea shark, which he buries his face in for a good two minutes before putting it away. Just because he threw out all his things doesn't mean that he's going to decorate his now empty room with tattered toys from his infancy. Just knowing that sharky is still alive and kicking is good enough, thank you very much. 

With more searching, Jeremy finds Noey the rabbit, which is even worse and more childish than Sharky. He finds a primary school graduation card from his mom, and a notebook that he and Michael used to pass back and forth during third grade math. The latter is what all but paralyzes Jeremy. Cuddling in the hospital aside, things are still weird between him and Michael. He brings the notebook downstairs and stows it in his otherwise vacant desk. 

(He caves and brings Noey and Sharky too, but they’re hidden away even more deeply in the desk than the notebook. He even tries the Lego spaceship again, but he's still crap at reading diagrams. It's a little reassuring, in a way.)

—————

The urge to die was something that Jeremy lived with before the Squip. Mom being awful? No big deal, just die. Kids at school making fun? Yeah, whatever. Get your act together and jump off a bridge. 

Those thoughts are still there, but they are dull and toothless now, like an angry old dog that is too worn and arthritic to stand on its poor shaky legs. Now when people shove into Jeremy, or he embarrasses himself, or he just can't figure things out, he gets to gently remind his die impulse that things have been worse than they are now, and he's still alive and even kinda doing well. The die impulse is just another one of those head voices that he gets to roll his eyes at. He's not really going to die. It makes him almost giddy. 

Occasionally, Jeremy uses his own head voice to ask the Squip questions, even after everything. Usually it's something akin to _Are you there? No? Good. Never come back.._. Sometimes, it's something more practical, like _How do I solve this math problem?_ , or _Christine is kissing me WHERE do i put my hands?_. Every once in a while, he gets an answer, and that makes him want to crawl out of his skin, but he _doesn't_. He focuses above and beyond all else on his own loudness and clarity. 

Somehow, Jeremy survives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten all the way to the end of this fic, I'd love to know what you thought, or even just that you finished it. 
> 
>  
> 
> There are a lot of lose threads with Jeremy that I haven't addressed. He has a lot that he has to deal with still, and a lot that he's going to have to go through in order to resolve some of the problems in his relationships. Plus, PTSD most likely. 
> 
> The reason that I didn't cover a lot of that here is because I'm in the middle of writing this giant Michael POV fic, and I wanted to figure out some things that were going on in that universe that could only be figured out by switching to Jeremy's POV. So, anyway, there's not a lot of detail about Jeremy's recovery and what goes on between him and Michael, because I'm planning on addressing it over there. 
> 
> Fic link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11671890/chapters/26267448
> 
> Also, hey, I'm starting to realize that all my BMC fics except for Customer Service are slightly interlinked and totally in the same universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review?


End file.
